


Hold On (To Nothing We Know)

by orphan_account



Category: Cheers (TV)
Genre: And Now For Something Completely Different, Complicated Relationships, Coping, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Finale, Sex Addiction, Surprise Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 17:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14525832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "What's he like?" they ask her with wide-eyed looks and hands clasped in excitement."He likes to hold my hand," she says, trying to keep her professional tone despite the pink staining her cheeks."What's she like?" They ask, raising an eyebrow or two and giving head nods and turning of hands that imply something else."She snores, and it's adorable," he says around his ginger-ale, and something weird stirs in his chest at the thought.Or: Sam and Lilith seek each other's comfort after setbacks in their respective relationships. And everyone else tries to make sure this isn't a sign that the world is ending.





	Hold On (To Nothing We Know)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song Only the Lonely by the Motels

**“Folks are usually about as happy as they make their minds up to be.”**  
**― Abraham Lincoln**

 Somehow it starts where they left off after she bid for him. 

Diane boards the plane back to LA, and Frasier takes Frederick with him to Seattle. 

The divorce is short and clean. He gets custody, and Lilith gets to keep the money from selling their apartment. Along with visitation rights whenever one flies to meet the other. 

She comes back to Cheers, and people try not to smother her in pity. Woody still tends the bar after working on the council. He's debating returnng to Cheers full time, and inbetween sips, she tells him one night, "do whatever you think will make you happy." 

"By that she means, do whatever will make Kelly happy," Norm yells from across the bar, because Cliff is rambling about the facts that make mountain climbing the deadlist sport known to human civilization.

"Anything I can get you, Dr. Sternin?" Woody always asks her when she's gone through her two tonic and gins. 

Most of the time, she'll pat his hand, and her smile will waver, and her eyes will tear up, but she always says "Thank you Woody, but no. I'm alright." She struggles to keep the professional tone in her voice. Straightens whatever dress or blouse she's wearing, leaves him a tip, and says her goodbyes. 

And everytime she leaves, the whole bar has a round for her, like her walking out into the cold Boston night is a death in their little family. 

***

And she comes back, everynight at the same time, like clockwork. Like Norm and Cliff have rubbed off on her because the three of them have nothing significant happening in their lives. Sam always feels uncomfortable seeing Lilith's normally icey, calm demenor start to crack under the pressure. 

***

And Sam feels guilty everytime he partakes in it, because he's not just doing it for her, he's doing it for himself. Even limiting himself to one beer feels like he's letting someone down. 

***

By some measure of grace and mercy, they overlook the whole "living with a nutcase underground for six months thing" and give her back her office. Two months have passed since Frasier left, and they stop doing the toast.

One night, a setback with a patient causes her to drink beyond what even Sam would call responsible, and she rests her head on the counter, pushing away her fifth glass. 

"You know, you look like death on toast, Dr. Sternin," Woody says, with a concerned tone. 

"Are you sure that's not what Kelly serves you for breakfast every morning?" Carla yells from the pool room,  and everyone laughs, because it's no secret that Kelly can't cook a meal to save her life. This is a woman who has burnt pasta. And Woody still ate it out of politeness. 

'Tell me a story, Woody," Lilith says, voice muffled yet somehow just as loud as everyone elses. The lights overhead feel too hot, and she starts breaking out in a sweat. Her stomach feels like it's full of stones. Her suit feels a size too small, and her face burns with tears now staining her cheeks. 

So Woody holds her hand, and Sam takes away the glass, and Woody tells all about the time his grandmother got struck by lighting while chasing runaway pigs. And how his grandfather was more upset about losing Hanover's Bacon Cooking contest.

And when he's done, Cliff starts crying because he's drunk, and the story "really tugged at the old heartstrings." 

Even when drunk, the woman's laugh is musicial. The kind of deep laugh she has from listening to Cliff's absurd jokes. It's the first time she's laughed since before she went underground with Dr. Pascal. It stirs something in Sam, some kind of memory of when he hit his own rock bottom and how people helped dig him out of it. 

And that's when, as he's walking her out, a smile tugs at his lips because even if things are still broken, they're beginning to mend. 

***

Sam drives her home. She's gotten a new place, a one bedroom townhouse near Faneuil Hall, that overlooks the water and is sparten in decoration. Except she's had Norm paint the walls green, for reasons left between the two of them. 

She fumbles for the key, mascara staining her face and once piercing eyes now wide as her body struggles to obey the necessary movements. Sam's holding her heels, and the carpet feels like a massage for her feet when the door opens. 

A couch, a TV, a kitchen, a bed and bath, and a window showing off Fan Pier Park and the Contemporary Art Museum across the water. Some boxes pilled along the far wall. The definition of a person still trying to settle herself down. 

"Would you like -" she starts to slur, before shuffling to the bathroom to empty her stomach.

He has to quell the inappropriate thoughts that come from the implied tension while making sure everything doesn't end up on her suit. He’s in his own form of recovery, after all.

Gentle hands rubbing knots out of her shoulders, encouraging words, glasses of water. A ten minute process feels like eternity for her, and still too long for him.

"How many times did we go down this road before?" His brain asks, when's she's emptying air at this point, and the tremors subside. 

"Too many," he says, more to himself as she flushes the worst of it away with a shaky hand. He bites his lip, trying to keep the bad memories under lock and key. 

He retracts his hands, stands to lean against the wall to give her space. Even then, they're still crammed in here, because the room is as small as an inmates cell in solitary. 

There's a pregnant pause, before she speaks. Her face is illuminated with sweat, and her tear streaks are black, like something out of a Gothic romance novel Diane would've liked.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry for having you have to... deal with my doltish dipsomania." 

She likes using big words when she's drunk, and Sam fumbles for the right words. 

"Hey, hey, hey. Lilith, sweetheart. I've been there, and you..." He swallows, "you gotta stop beating yourself up like this. You're not just hurting yourself here, you're making the guys at the bar get all worked-"

He stops, because now he's afraid he's playing Russian Roulette with his words. The gears in his brain start to shake from the turning. 

"I was once in the same boat you're in now," He finally says, crouching down so he doesn't have to feel like he's towering over her.

Her eyes are wide, and her hands are warm as he helps her to bed. She sits on the purple blanket, not letting go of his hand. 

"Oh."

She's got a hurt look on her face, and he sits with her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. 

Normally, in past situations, his alarm would be reading DEFCOM 2 right now. But Frasier is halfway across the country, trying to mend his own fences. At least she's kept from crying again. Bad things happen when the drunk women he got together with would cry. 

Oh sure, the sex would be fantastic, but these aren't women with personailities as shallow as a kiddie pool, this is Lilith. It leaves Sam feeling unsettled, like Frasier is going to burst through the door and pin him to the wall. But he knows Frasier is a good man, despite the divorce. And his brain is giving him payback for the times he thought how great it was to get women into bed with nothing more then their underwear on and a hangover staring them in the face the next morning. 

So Sam squeezes his free hand into a fist, and counts backwords. Thinks of when Lilith used spoons to entertain the guests at Woody's wedding, He wonders why she'd never told any of them before. Thinks of how he needs to move on from Diane, but this wasn't the plan he had in mind for fixing that. 

"Are you alright?" 

She's sobered up a little, and starts rubbing her thumb over his hand. 

"Who's helping who here?" he half jokes, and she laughs quietly, before her smile turns tense. 

"Could you stay, with me? I don't want to be alone right now."

He gives her a look not unlike an out-of-breath goldfish.

"That's not helping." He swallows. 

She wipes at her face, before shakily removing her jacket. 

"We both know this isn't going to be another one of your lotharian escapades." She's seen his file, offered to give him support for his problem. But there hasn't been a good time, between their respective relationships crumbling around them.

He hangs his head sheepishly. 

"I'm getting better. You know I value what we have too much to ruin it."

She smiles, that warm smile that lights up her face and breaks the facade she always has slipped on like a horror mask. 

"Ok."

So they strip down as far as they're both willing to go, and she holds his hand the whole night. Even when she sleeps like the dead, she never lets go. One leg snaked over his own, hair out of her tight bun, left to spill out over her pillow. He stares at the ceiling for a long time, trying to understand what this all means. That one song from Air Supply creeps into his head. 

 _'One look and then it all began for you and me_  
_The moment that we touched I knew that there would be_  
  
_Two less lonely people in the world_  
_And it's gonna be fine'_

He falls asleep, wondering what happened before Frasier and everyone at Cheers came into her life. And how she could help him fight his own battles, as he’s doing for her now. His lust for easy women filling the void that cheap gin has been filling for her. 

***

He doesn't tell anybody what happened the next day. 

She has a splitting headache, and she shuffles into the kitchen as he makes breakfast. 

"Thank you, Sam." She says with sincerity, kissing his cheek before going to pour herself some coffee.

"You know I would never take advantage of you, Lilith." 

"That's not what I mean. I only hope when you have a situation like I had last night, you won't be afraid to call on me for help." 

"Thank you." There are so many questions left unanswered, but he leaves them unasked. 

***

She quits drinking. He starts going back to SA meetings. They cuddle together at various points in the interviening weeks, until she asks him to dinner. 

"Why me?"

She raises an eyebrow. Carla is being restrained by Norm, Cliff is regaling everyone with facts about the mating habits of  great white sharks, and Paul is drunkly smashing keys on the piano while Woody tries his best rendition of Piano Man.  

"Did you have some other well-tempered individual in mind who could accompany me instead?" 

He grins. "No one except me, myself and I."

  
"Perfect. You'll pick me up at nine on Saturday." Her voice is punctual, and yet she laughs anyway when he bows. 

"As the dear lady wishes," Sam says, before kissing her hand and grinning like he'd stolen something important and gotten away with it.  

She actually curtsies, and there's someone yelling, "Ye Fair Knight Malone has snared the heart of the wicked ice queen! What vile sorcery is this?." It's probably Carla, who proptely has to sit down from the shock of seeing the two of them act cute. 

Everyone ribs on Sam the rest of the night, making Princess Bride references and asking Sam what kind of horse he's going to ride on to take out the fair maiden. 

And he laughs, and for once, he's not worried about what's to come after Diane walked out a second time. 

***

It's seven, and he's in his best suit, readjusting his tie for the sixth time and sweating bullets. He calls the only people he can think of.

Frasier is suprised, but amicable about the whole thing. "All I can offer is, treat her like a princess-"

"Already got the horse and the suit of armor," Sam interjects jokingly, and Frasier laughs. 

 ***

"Are you sure I'm not dreaming?," Diane says over the phone, voice full of shock.

"Trust me, we've gotten closer since you've gone away." 

Diane clears her throat. "Yes, well just keep your pants on, and treat her right, and for God's sake, don't spend the whole evening mollifying her about your rambuncous baseball escapades."

Their advice ends up being a lifesaver, and useless at the same time. 

Lilith comes in a suit and pants, and Sam feels a little more at ease. 

"I've always wondered Sam," she asks, as the waves lap against the shore not fifty feet from where they're eating, the lights of Boston at night twinkling like stars close up.

Sam pauses, fork full of salmon not half-way to his mouth. 

"How did you and Coach get into baseball, of all the sports built around posturing and the male need for constant personal achievment?"   
  
He loves when she talks psychology to him.

"Well..." he says, after getting his ducks in a row, and proceeds to only partially tell her all about his baseball escapades. Or at least the abridged version. She laughs, and some warm feel spreads through him. She talks about her life before Cheers, and piece by piece, something akin to love starts to take shape.

And when they split a Boston Cream Pie, and she takes his hand in hers, he stops. 

"Can I stay the night?" She tries to keep the blush from spreading, and can't but clears her throat before articulating anyway, like he's a patient. 

"Norm is finishing up the last of the painting in my apartment. I'd prefer it if I didn't lounge about on my own sofa covered in plastic wrap like an Ikea model."

Sam shrugs. 

"Anytime." 

***

"What's he like?" her co-workers ask her outside her office the next day with wide-eyed looks and hands clasped in excitement.

"He likes to hold my hand," she says, trying to keep her professional tone despite the pink staining her cheeks.

"What's she like?" They ask, raising an eyebrow or two and giving head nods and turning of hands that imply something else.

"She snores, and it's adorable," he says around his ginger-ale, and something weird stirs in his chest at the thought.

"Almost like being in love," a voice whispers in his ear. And he smiles at the thought, but he's happy with what they have. 

Even if everyone keeps asking why he spends all day humming the song from Air Supply. 


End file.
